How to Stitch Broken Glass
by dandylionnn
Summary: Sometimes you need to be at your worst, fractured and defeated at the bottom of the hole, before you can begin to thread the needle and gather your pieces, before someone can show you how to stitch yourself back together. Gaara and Ino both learn this the hard way their senior year of high school. gaaxino


Author's note:

Summary is subject to change!

I hope you guys like it this! I've been wanting to play around with different characters other than Sasuke and Hinata, and how to break the stereotypes and tropes that we end up placing them in.

The story is an AU away from the Naruto-verse, and Gaara and Ino are both seniors at the local high school. Each chapter will be a different POV, but for this first chapter, I decided to showcase both their POV's, their thoughts, and their style of thinking. The next chapter will most likely be Gaara's, buttttt...who knows.

And yes. The chapter title is because I absolutely love John Green and The Fault In Our Stars. If you haven't read it, you should –– don't forget the box of tissues else your shirt be covered with sad snot and heart-breaking boogers.

Oh, by the way, I'm a BETA reader now! Whoop! So go ahead and hit me up if my writing style is similar to yours, or if you happen to like the way I write.

* * *

1. The Fault in Ourselves

**Gaara**

_I want to die._

This is the first thought my mind spits out at me as I wake from my restless slumber to the house phone obnoxiously ringing christmas carols throughout empty halls. Seeking the cool, smooth surface of the floor, my feet jump over the bed, mechanically walking me to the source of Jingle Bells in the middle of November.

It's sadly still around here. Mother must be asleep. The soft flutters of her breath escaping from beneath the door speaks of overtime. Kankuro's snores shake the halls and Temari's jacket, missing from the coat hanger, must have followed her to work this morning.

The caller ID says Idiot Uzumaki.

_"__Leave a message after the beep._

_"__Beep!_

_"__Hey, you bastard, I know you're awake! Pick up the phone, dammit! Hello? Fine, don't pick up. I'm having breakfast with some friends at that cafe that just opened up across from The Third's a few weeks ago. Be there in an hour or be square! Oh, and delete this message so your sweet mother doesn't find it. The last thing I need is for her to call mine…"_

It's too early for this. And then I have work tonight. In all honesty, it's probably better to spend the rest of my hours asleep in bed. I head back to my room and collapse on the covers, hoping for sleep to take me under into darkness. I guess the pill wore off because my face is still pressed against the pillow, still waiting for the Sandman to come yet knowing very well that he won't. My clock counts off the minutes and Naruto's voice echoes in my head.

…

…

…

I guess I'll go.

Work starts at nine and I don't have much else to do, lying around here waiting for a Sandman that won't show up, like a deadbeat father. My body follows behind my feet sluggishly. The morning is a blur. Everything follows a strict pattern that's been in effect for the past ten years.

Rinse. Spit. Brush up. Down. Side to side. Spit. Repeat.

Think about the wonders of life and fail.

Think about the money I need and sigh.

Think about the family. The bleak future.

Think about whatever.

Repeat.

Just as quickly as I wipe my face into the towel, I'm out the door. The lock clicks into place at the persuasion of my key and, from across the street, I hear the door screech awake unwillingly.

I turn around and we make eye contact — literally, it's just one eye. Her "make-a-rebellious-statement" fringe is getting out of hand. She yells something obscene back into the house and slams the door shut. Even my sneakers cringe at the hatefulness towards blood. The skateboard takes to the pavement and she hops on its deck, ready to sail the concrete — in the same direction I'm walking. It's awkward.

Times like these, I feel like I should invest in a car. Or a driver's license. Or an invisibility cloak.

"Morning." I say from across the street. There's a large, gray ocean between us that can't be crossed; my words tentatively swim over, and she, cruising by, catches them with her nets. I hope she doesn't throw them overboard.

We lock another glance.

"Hey," she replies. "You're up early. For a Saturday."

"You, too."

"You didn't have work yesterday?"

"I did. Couldn't sleep."

"Fun stuff. I couldn't stand being in the house any longer." Her voice is bitter, and she thinks back on something that exploded that morning. Tanned hands snake into pockets, hiding from the yellow glow of her hair. "So, where you heading off to?"

"The cafe that just opened up," I answer.

"Heard that place was shit."

I shrug, not really caring how good the cafe is because I never have much of an appetite on me anyways.

The crossroads come earlier than expected, looming over us like a dramatic movie scene. With no one on the streets but us, I feel as though my decision to turn will somehow affect the rest of my life. I linger a little longer around the stop sign.

"Where are you going?" It's the only thing I can come up with, as pathetic as it is.

"I don't know," she responds. "Wherever."

She kicks a pebble and hawks out a glob. I wonder how messed up her family is for her to mutter sad hexes to herself.

Though I say nothing in response, I nod, acknowledging the quietly simmering desperation that bubbles around her.

"See you later," Ino says, and I take my right turn to continue the path on foot. There's a prickling feeling running up the back of my neck, urging me to glance behind, and even as I peek at her fading back, I still can't see what's going on in her head. It used to be so easy when we were kids, but I guess the years really do change a person.

I don't want to be that guy that stands around and sadly watches her disappearing figure get eaten by the horizon, so I force my feet to keep moving towards the new cafe.

— gnom gnom gnom —

"You guys remember my cousin, Gaara." Naruto wraps an arm around my shoulder and pats me twice.

Carefully sculpted smiles are sent my way. I don't bother painting a grin on my canvas and opt for nodding in their general direction. I vaguely remember their names: the short haired one is Neji and the long haired one is Kiba, I believe.

"Good to see you again."

"How's it going, brah?"

"Hey," I reply.

Silence takes an uninvited seat beside us. They're waiting for me to say something else, to continue the conversation and be social like my highly-esteemed cousin.

"So…" The short haired boy licks his lips in obvious discomfort.

Naruto bumps shoulders with me and gives me a pointed stare. I shrug.

"…So…" I don't know why the short-haired boy thought it would work a second time.

"Ahem." Naruto shakes his head and throws the arm back over me. "That's my cousin, for ya. Quieter than a dead man."

"Stop badgering him, Kiba," Kiba says…? Oh, I guess he's Neji — got the names mixed up. "He doesn't have to talk if he doesn't want to."

"I wasn't 'badgering' him, damn. I just can't stand the silence! Awkward as hell."

"Anyways!" Naruto snaps his fingers, shifting impatiently. It's been getting colder lately as we near December, but not cold enough to justify his blue sweater. He's always been fashion-conscious, though, something my mother loves and most likely wishes I was.

"Back to the subject matter at hand: the senior prank." His face breaks out into a full blown grin, cheeks and teeth and all. "What are we going to do?"

"I dunno, man." Kiba blows a soft whistle. "The principal's been tightening the reins this year."

"Don't be a pussy, dude."

"I ain't bein' a pussy! Look, if we get involved in anymore crazy shit this year, we might not walk the stage, and I wanna walk that damn stage when I graduate."

"Bah!"

"Kiba's right." Neji sips at what looks to be hot tea. Does it taste as bad as it smells? Does the food taste as bad as it smells in here? "Realistically, this may be the end of the senior prank tradition."

"Neji's not even in school anymore, and even _he_ knows," Kiba comments.

Maybe I should try something to report back to her next time we meet.

"Give it up, man."

"This can't be the end of it!"

"How's the tea?"

"What?"

"This can't be the end of it?"

"Not you, moron," Neji shoots out. "Your cousin, Gaara. He said something."

All eyes turn to me. It's only three pairs but my body grows warmer as if the entire cafe is silent, waiting for me to repeat my question. This is the exact reason why I stopped asking to use the bathroom and just force my bladder to tough it out during class. Better that than the stares.

"What's up, Gaara?" Naruto asks.

"How's the tea. Neji." I'm pretty sure that's Neji.

"It's good." He slides his cup toward me. "Want to try?"

"No. I want to order something."

Naruto hands me the menu with wide eyes. "You're hungry?"

"No."

"Why the hell are you wasting money and food then?"

"I want to see if this place is good."

Their menu is twenty pages long, decorated with cartoons and food pictures, fancy (unreadable) fonts and three-sentenced paragraphs briefly describing the item in question. It's too much of a chaotic maze to really be considered the menu of a grade A cafe, but the many choices are interesting, if not wordy. The other three talk amongst themselves and the attention is slowly shifted away from me. I slowly release the breath I was holding.

As though she had been eyeing us down, the waitress heads over as soon as I close the menu.

"Can I take your order, sir?"

"The Sweet Corn Tamale."

"What side would you like with that, sir?"

"No."

"I'm sorry?" Her pen freezes mid-letter.

"I don't want a side."

"Are you sure? Because it co — "

"No sides."

There is a stifled muffle of amusement to my right that I ignore.

"… Anything else, sir? Would you like something to drink?"

"No."

She lingers, as everyone usually does when dealing with me, before figuring out that I have nothing more to say.

"Don't try so hard to get her number, man," Naruto retorts. There is an unwanted amount of sarcasm emanating from his words. I glance back to our waitress who now stands in a corner, awkwardly trying to figure out what to do now that all of her tables have been served and checked up on.

"Her nose is weird," I comment offhandedly.

Naruto eyes me down. "Her nose is fine. And you hate corn."

"I don't hate it."

"Well, you don't love it."

"It's a mutual feeling, corn and I."

Chuckles pass around the table, flittering like dark butterflies.

"It was the cheapest thing on the menu," I explain.

"Oh. Right." He rubs the back of his head, thinking his thoughts and memories and decisions. I stare off at a different table diagonal from us, concentrating on a yellow stain on the back of a red leather booth.

Naruto clears his throat to get my attention. "Lemme get the check, Gaara."

"I can pay for it."

"It's fine. On me."

"I'm poor, not broke."

The silence that takes the seat this time is more awkward than the last. I'm not entirely sure how to handle this one, and neither do his friends because they all seem to find spots on other booths to stare at while Naruto taps his fingers against the smooth table that smells of mildewed washcloths.

The food comes in time, saving us all from the dread of trying to soothe the tension.

She sets the steaming plate down in front of me. Having learned her lesson, she doesn't say anything and moves along. I can see the drool begging to break free from the corner of Naruto's mouth. He tries to discreetly clean it off.

"Hot damn! Can you smell that?" Kiba's like a dog, the way he licks his lips and bares his teeth. "That's some delicious-smelling shit."

Neji butts in, "Looks like shit."

"Take a bite before I wolf it down first," Naruto exclaims.

I get in a couple of spoonfuls. There's an overbearing tex-mex taste that churns my stomach, but it's nothing terrible. Feels like mush, though.

"Hey, how's Hinata, by the way?" Naruto scoops three spoonfuls onto one spoon like a pig; I can hear him snort before he swallows. "How's she, ah, taking the news?"

From the change in atmosphere and temperature, it seems we've stepped onto cold lands that require gentle footsteps on trembling ice. I don't know a Hinata, but it's obvious from the way Neji stiffens his back and tightens the grip on his tea that she's someone important.

"Not as well as one would hope..."

"Figures," Kiba says.

"We're going on a spontaneous trip tomorrow morning before I leave next week."

"That'll probably be good for her." Naruto says after swallowing.

"She's a sweetheart," Kiba adds. "Sometimes, I think a random, dead squirrel on the side of the road would make her bust into tears."

"Join the club." Neji sighs. "I don't know how she'd take it if I don't come back."

… Is this supposed to taste like bile?

My stomach mutters things to me, grumbling incoherent sentences that I don't understand. Despite the language barrier, it's doing a decent job of conveying to the problem: something is trying to come up. I mentally shake my head and try to pay attention to the conversation.

"Hey, man, don't say shit like that. You're gonna make it back home."

"Like Forrest Gump."

"With a bullet in my ass?"

"Better a bullet in your ass than no ass at all, Neji."

I swallow something down.

"Gaara? Bro, you're not looking too hot."

I've long since stopped eating, but the damage has been done. It's traveling up my throat with no intention of stopping, and though I clamp down on my tongue with every thought of not making a fool of myself, the flour mush and stomach acid and weird carrot pieces punch through my wall of teeth and I upchuck on the side of the aisle. I hadn't even seen carrots on my plate.

"Fuck, Gaara!" Naruto pats my back in a panic and another wave of presents shoots from my stomach. "Oh, fuck."

That's it, just two vomit splatters, over and done with. I reach backward and Naruto hands me my napkin and then his own as an after thought. I wipe off my chin and cough into the cloth; it's harder trying to suppress the red of my ears because I can feel their stares. Kiba yells for the waitress who looks like she wished she could return my present to Wal-Mart and Neji slides me his tea. I mentally write this cafe down on my list of places to never come back to.

"Come on, buddy, let's go to the bathroom — Gaara!"

But I stumble out of that hellhole as fast as I can because there are so many eyes on me and there are so many bright carrots in that throw-up, mystery carrots that I've never once eaten all week, and the smell is starting to churn my stomach again.

Outside, the air is fresh, but I don't stop until I round the corner, away from the curiosity of glass windows. Several lampposts down and I finally slow my jog to an amble with every intention of heading back home to down jugs of Listerine. Naruto doesn't follow behind to give me a pep talk or a pat on the back. He has a good sixth sense about these kinds of things; he can be loudly stupid, but he knows when to give a person their space, I'll give my cousin that much.

Like a movie, I half expected to see Ino skating past me when I make it to our neighborhood, but it's not a thought that follows through. There are a few people walking their cotton-ball pomeranians; I avoid them and their glances, very aware that I reek of bile and half-digested tex-mex. Across the street from my house are angry screams of war billowing upward like black smoke.

Looks like the neighbors are at it again.

* * *

**Ino**

I wake up at 5 AM every day to avoid talking to anyone. Emo? Nah. They just piss me off, in all honesty, and who would actually like to start off their day in the mood to strangle the first five cows in their sight? Leave early, come home late, hide away in the room. That's the best plan to get people to leave you alone, the best plan to steer clear of any unwanted confrontations that would only end badly.

Lately, Dad has been anxious. I can tell he wants to talk to me (he always wants to lecture me about something), and so I've been putting extra effort into not seeing him. Our meetings always end on an angry note, with the both of us yelling and cussing (well, I am, anyways), so I don't know why he always tries.

Guess my dad got smart, though, because just as I open my door to head off to brush my teeth, he's standing there in front of the bathroom, waiting for me for God knows how long. I expect that he wants to sit me down for talk; he should know by now that I don't _do_ talks.

"Good morning," he says, offering an uncomfortable smile.

"Morning," I reply stiffly, waiting for him to step aside so I get my nasty teeth cleansed.

"How are you?"

"Really, Dad? At five in the morning?"

He sighs at my answer.

This is how it normally is. We go through a round of faked pleasantries and then the screaming match starts.

"Do I need to follow some schedule to talk to my daughter?"

"Well, 5 AM definitely wouldn't be on it."

His jaw tenses. I've lived with the man all my life (and pissed him off all my life), so I know the exact meaning of all the little signs and clues that most people overlook, and when it means he'll blow. Right now, his breaking point is pretty close.

"Ino, can you listen to me for _one_ minute?"

"Why?" I lean against the stairway rails and pretend to be interested in the wooden floors on the ground beneath us. "It's not like you ever listen to me."

"The amount of disrespect you have is incomprehensible." He rubs his temples with pulsing fingers. "I don't know where you got this attitude from."

It's like something in me snaps and all I can see is red. I have a temper — I know I do, and really, the best way to deal with that is to not piss me off, especially at 5 AM in the fucking morning.

"What the fuck, Dad."

"Young lady —"

"No, seriously, you're gonna get up off your ass _two hours_ before you actually need to just so you can tell me I'm disrespectful? Are you fucking kidding? All I want to do is brush my goddamn teeth. I didn't ask for Crazy Dad Mode at _five in the fucking morning_."

"Ino, you will watch your language when talking to me! I am your father, not your friend. How dare you use such words; I didn't raise you to be this way."

"You didn't fucking raise me at all."

"Ino!"

God! If I could just get my hands around his neck sometimes! I shove past him into the bathroom and lock the door, my breathing unable to keep up with the rapid pace of thoughts beating away at my brain. There are footsteps outside my door and I already know who's out there with him. I turn on the sink and the shower in an attempt to drown out their words, but the walls are thin and I can hear everything and it just makes my fists clench tighter and my body shake even more.

"Come back to bed, honey."

"I just don't — I can't — It's like I don't even know her anymore, Chieko."

"I'm sure she'll come around."

"It's like I've got a stranger for a daughter, my god."

I concentrate on brushing my teeth and make my gums bleed.

— gnom gnom gnom —

On the days when my friends and I aren't tearing it at the park, we chill at Red Clouds, the original cafe before The Third's opened up. Both are so-so for coffee and finger food, but all of the annoying kids at my high school like to go to The Third's. Big turn off. I hate seeing people from my school, and I hate going into a cafe with a bunch of rowdy, obnoxious, two-faced teens dirtying everything up with their STD-ridden essence. Plus, Red Clouds has a bit of an outsider's feel to it, inviting those who flow beside mainstream to come in and inhale the Pumpkin King Coffee scent that lingers around. The atmosphere of people who don't seem to belong anywhere in the school hierarchy of idiots really speaks to me.

I drink my iced coffee. It's sweet, only hinting at a bitter poem when it sings down my throat.

"You're early."

Looking up from the ice cubes drifting in my cup, I see Chouji and Shikamaru take the seats across from me.

"And you're late, as per usual." My eyes roll as though annoyed, but seconds later, I'm grinning and they're laughing.

"Bought your drinks." The two cups beside me, one iced and one hot, are slid towards them carefully. Shikamaru drinks his coffee black and burning and Chouji drinks whatever I'm drinking (_"You always get the good stuff. Just buy me what you have.")_

"How's my favorite high school?" I ask, excited to hear any new gossip from the school I had to leave and the friends I can now only see sparingly.

"Boring," Shikamaru sighs. He takes large gulps of his drink; I can't even begin to understand how he does it without cringing.

"Nothing's changed," Chouji agrees, "though I hear the principal is finally going to resign."

"And the new one's gonna be some ol' troublesome hag."

I frown. "That's it?"

Disappointing gossip.

"Oh, Hinata sends her regards. She just left for a last-minute vacation this morning with her cousin before he heads off to the war."

_Off to The Mouth._

But no one says it out loud, even though we're all thinking it.

It's quiet now as we all spend a moment of silence for Hinata's cousin whose name I can never remember but whose violet irises I can never forget. It's known that once you enlist in the war across the seas, you never come back — and if you do come back, _you_ never really come back.

"He'll be okay," Chouji says with a surprising optimism, but the gloom and doom that looms over us says that we all know otherwise. "He'll come back a-okay."

"Yeah," Shikamaru nods. "Yeah, you're right, Chouji."

I'm not so sure I believe it, but I can't let myself think the worst scenario, even if it's the most likely one. Hinata would be heartbroken. I had a distant cousin go off to the war; he came back in a box with some medals that no one cared about. I mean, I never knew him, but it was still a pretty shitty feeling finding out.

"How's it going on your end, Ino?" Chouji asks.

I shrug. The faint hairs on my cheek can still feel the morning rush of his breath yelling at me. We can't seem to go a full week without starting a new fight.

"That bad, huh?"

"He just doesn't get me," I grumble.

"Maybe he's trying? Just…not trying very well?"

I glare at my cup, trying not to direct it toward Chouji. He's always been really optimistic about everything, and it's fine, except whenever he decides to apply that quality to my life.

"Trust me, he's definitely not trying. All he wants to do is lecture me and compare me to that fucking bitch."

"Ouch."

"I don't care. I legitimately hate her."

"Great conversation, Chouji," Shikamaru whispers, elbowing his friend in the side.

I pretend not to hear them and stir my watered down coffee with the green straw. They probably think I'm mean and super bitchy for no reason, but I know what I know and I feel what I feel. They can't see the way my dad speaks to me in gritted teeth or or the way he looks at me, secretly wishing that it was morally and socially acceptable to drop me off at some shelter and leave me there forever so he can move on with his new family.

Shikamaru clears his throat. "What are your plans for today?"

"Nothing." It comes off more annoyed than it's supposed to, but I don't know how else to phrase it and what else to say. I literally have nothing planned for today. I had figured I'd go chill with them, but now I kind of don't want to. "What are your plans?"

"We're gonna catch a movie or something, maybe study for our test on Tuesday."

"Well, _I_ need to study," Chouji corrects.

"Yeah, that sounds good," I say off-handedly. "I have some tests I should be studying for, too."

The conversation dies then. I can see Chouji feels bad because he thinks he's the one that killed the vibe, but it's not him — I mean, he brought it up, but I've been in a pretty shitty mood ever since this morning. We say our goodbyes and I watch them make their way to their car from behind the window. I sip at the rest of my watered drink and tap my fingers against the red table.

Sometimes I feel like I should get a job. I look at the people working at the register and then at the people scattered around the cafe with their laptops and their books and their papers. It's a mixture of college students and high school students and older people in school or in employment. Maybe if I got a job, I could move out and drop out of school, focus on skating. But I don't have a car, and a skateboard can only get me so far as transportation. Besides, this is my last year, and if I drop out now, I'd have wasted four years of my life without a diploma to show for it.

The front door rings and a group of girls walk in. One in particular makes me want to vomit.

She looks at me. Raises her hand.

I leave the cafe. I don't know why she and her friends decided to go to Red Clouds when The Third's more popular with the people from my school — and that's been fine with me, since that means Red Clouds is a little emptier. Or at least empty of their presence. Usually. I hope she doesn't make it a habit. I don't know what I'm gonna do if the risk of her spontaneously showing up any time I'm there is a forever factor. I would pull out so much hair. So much fucking hair. Her hair, of course.

And then, next thing ya know, her fucking face will start showing up at the skating parks! Fucking kill me.

I hadn't brought my skateboard this time. Just a short, slow walk back to the house I hate. Stopping at the driveway, I let the good sight sink in: there are no cars parked outside. The garage is filled with a bunch of boxes with shit nobody needs yet nobody wants to get rid of, so the cars can't be hiding in there. And there's no work today, since it's a Sunday. Old people don't "go out," meaning I don't know where the hell they went. Then again, it doesn't matter, because now I can breathe and walk into my own damn house without the worry of popping a blood vessel.

It's so much better when nobody's home. I wish it could always be this way — just me, myself, and I.


End file.
